


The Sound of Silence

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Fruit, Gen, Light Angst, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Songfic, Sort Of, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Earth was so… loud, sometimes.





	The Sound of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> For Lucifer Bingo prompt: smoking

Earth was so… loud, sometimes. Lucifer always savored human desire, intoxicating and nauseating in equal measure, and he found himself drawn to their fire, so like the stars. But, when he flew too close, he could only ever find himself burning, flailing in the air as he was dragged down to meet the sea. Hell had been worse, of course, with its cruel laughter and its endless screaming and all those wrenching sobs. Even the silence in Hell rang with fear and echoed in desolation.

Heaven was serenity—as calm as drowning and far stiller than death. But _this_ peace was truer than all those supposedly halcyon days when thunder could be heard in the distance and storm clouds loomed in the corners of his eyes. _This_ repose had lasted as long as he’d willed it, sloth among the kinder of his sins, though it would soon, he knew, surrender to lust and gluttony and, as always, to pride. The first and sweetest of his transgressions.

But for now he was content with the heaviness in his limbs and the comforting warmth of the smoke in his lungs as he exhaled leisurely, splayed back on his leather sofa, windows thrown wide to greet the sun and the salt breeze. He reached back with his free hand, pressing past feathers, fastening his fingers carefully around the studded flesh of a strawberry. He brought the fruit to his lips and sighed at its scent before biting into its tart freshness. He took another drag from his joint and flicked the ash away off the edge of the couch, holding the flavor of the berry in his mouth for a moment further, letting his eyes drift closed.

He thought about music, then; about coaxing joy and sorrow both from piano keys, about the record player that crackled like wildfire. But he was loath to shatter the fragile quiet even with melodies purer than celestial choirs could comprehend, so instead he slipped down deeper into the cushions, silk sliding against leather, and stretched out his wings to better catch the heat of daylight. The pulse of human activity, frenetic, though slowed by the lethargy of late afternoon, thrummed at the edge of his hearing and he tipped his head back, letting its vibrations murmur in his throat.

He plucked a grape from the bowl on the table and hummed as it jolted honey across his tongue. He took another and another still until their juices clung to his chin and his mouth was flooded with their savor. He licked at his fingertips and sighed again. He breathed another lungful of smoke before pinching the ember out and dropping the joint beside the fruit bowl, brushing the hair from his face with his clean hand.

The soporific haze was fleeting, but he rejoiced in its ephemerality, feeling the vapor slide along his neurons with far more pleasure than the drifting ash of Hell could ever impart, the ache of its loss subdued beneath the consuming numbness. The shadows slowly lengthened as he held himself on the boundary between dreams and wakefulness, stood at the verge of oblivion and reveled in the dread desire to leap, to lose himself.

To fall.

But then there was a buzzing by his leg and he dragged himself from the edge. He couldn’t jump, couldn’t drop, couldn’t sink.

The detective needed him.

> “And in the naked light I saw  
> Ten thousand people, maybe more  
> People talking without speaking  
> People hearing without listening  
> People writing songs that voices never share  
> And no one dared  
> Disturb the sound of silence”

-Simon and Garfunkel


End file.
